Rev. Dr. DeWayne L. Davis
I want to say to those who insist on favoritism by God for humans: there are other siblings—microbes and mountains, leopard and leeches, all beloved” —Katharine M. Preston, “Earth’s Self-Care”
As we prepared for vacation, we had always planned to go whale-watching. However, I had little expectation that we would see any whales as previous attempts invariably resulted in no sightings. The only other occasion I saw a whale was one of those once-in-lifetime events that just happened while we were doing something else. Whales don’t order their movements on the off chance that humans will get to see them. But something about this experience was different. Every part of the journey to see whales felt like prayer. We were ten people gathered in a zodiac boat, sailing in silence past islands and inlets and winding our way over large and small waves and wakes with sea water spraying our faces and the smell of marine life reminding us that we were in another habitat. It felt sacred and serious. An unspoken prayer kept repeating in my mind, “Let us see your glory.” And then we saw them. A pod of 4 orcas just a few feet away, one of which remained temporarily several yards away from the group to hunt for food. Their every breach of the surface filled us with joy.
I was surprised by my reaction. I could not contain my emotion nor hold back the tears. And I know that I was exclaiming words of awe, praise, and amazement, but I don’t remember what I was saying precisely. I knew I had been audibly responding to the beautiful sight because a woman who sat next to us on the boat asked, “what is wrong with us? Why can’t we pull ourselves together?” I’ve been reflecting on that question since that experience. We couldn’t “pull ourselves together” because we had encountered something holy, revelatory, and beloved.
We also saw harmony in the creation beyond our need to control or exploit it. We saw how another of God’s creations lived in nature, unmoved by our desire or concern for anything else other than its immediate need for food and community. These beautiful, gentle giants took no more food or territory than they needed and remained oblivious to the small boat tracking their movements. In their habitat and their migration, they ministered to me. I heard a sermon in their presence, action, and engagement with the creation: we are not the center of the world; God moves in and through all of God’s good creation; their purpose for being and existing is beyond my comprehension but must be an essential component of God’s work in the world. It humbled me. And it begged the question: how do we resist the human tendency toward mastery and dominion when it comes to God’s creation? How can we honor and be a part of creation with commitment, reciprocity, and mutuality?